Premonition
by greysnyper
Summary: At night, the things we fear most can be free...


  
  
_Faint church bells echo on endlessly along rubble strewn streets. Scent of flesh clinging to the air. Clinging and won't let go. And the colours...they are where? During day this place...all brown sand, blue and burning sky. All dust, scattered in many shades across the world. Yet if you look far enough...are careful you see them? Reflections of the world, blinding glint of suns in golden glass?  
But this is night. All darkness, and shadows. The moons? Gone. Saw them go. Saw one eclipsed brilliantly by something so dark. Shooting straight up from the very earth. Piercing. Carving. Carving the soul out of the very sky...  
An act of God.  
So only stars. Only stars to reveal the colours of the night. Yes. Stars that couldn't be found first. Would life have been better then? Did he think...  
Colours, hard to find. Like reflective gold...determined...glass. But there they are, pushing past the forms on the ground. Crimson. Stands out even under the lost stars and darkened moons. Leaks into the ground, spills out over cold flesh, and stains the hands of the Priest. And tonight, the brightest red, comes from fabric. Crimson bullet strewn fabric...finally buried far beneath the ground. Done so early...gone so late.  
Good-bye...  
  
Typhoon..._  
  
The sheets were on the floor the time he awoke. They were crumpled neatly in heaps, sharing shades pale white, lit by the fifth moon.  
  
_They're still there!_  
  
What came next? Relief perhaps...that only dreams could bring forth and then hide again such vivid thoughts of the subconscious. But a cold sweat broke out over him when he discovered the images so fresh on his mind. The church bells, the bodies. There were so many bodies! A shuddering breath released, and it was suddenly too warm in the room. Had the sheets been atop the bed, surely he would have pulled them off. Had there been any nightclothes...they would have been undone and left with the sheets. Why was it so hot?  
The bedsprings were all that acknowledged the presence of life in the room...squeaking as he shifted, and then again in protest as he winced. The ache of the years in uncounted fights returned. All the running, the dodging, the killing...  
He had hurt himself the other day. There wasn't much time left. And even then he had protested that this line of work would claim him.  
And it all came down on a heavy mind...everything. His assignment, the children, those damned ideals of a wanted man, and survival. They all carried a price. And it was all weighing down, seizing, burning, pressing...  
  
"I can't..." he cursed, and forced himself off the mattress. The wood floor was cool, and cluttered with his few possessions. It was simple enough to cross though, lit lightly from the moons. Two steps along and he could feel the sting within' his head and the ache once more from as deep as his bones. The walls tilted confusingly for a moment...before settling down. Or maybe he just imagined that they had stopped spinning.  
  
_Walls are good_. He thought. _They keep bad streets away._  
And suddenly another rush of images...the rubble, the dust, the bodies...tattered red rags...  
  
A hand was thrown to his forehead...perhaps to force the dream back to oblivion. His palm was strangely cool against his brow. It felt good against the burning. It did not though, keep the images at bay.  
  
"I need to get...out."  
Vaguely, he remembered slipping on his pants...followed by slinging his shirt over his shoulder. The girls were staying in the same place. It wouldn't be proper should one of them see him like this. Dressed...partially at least, he then stumbled to the doorway. The timber wall stopped his tumbling, and for an instant, he longed to embrace the wood. Let its' coolness battle against the burning...  
But the door was open before he recalled turning the handle, and the dark hallway beckoned.  
  
The stairs lead down to the main hall. Chairs were turned up on tables, the bar was dark and locked up, and the piano sat covered in the corner. The swing doors provided the light, a long path leading from the outside world and stretching back to the middle of the room. It was all so quiet.  
He stopped half way down the stairwell and strained his ears...wondering if he'd be able to hear long distant bell echoes. He felt a small victory when everything remained silent.  
  
Closing his eyes, there was a familiar drifting feeling. The stairways' rail held him aloft. His lips were salty.  
_What am I doing here again?_ He pondered... _I should be sleeping..._  
  
Dreams!  
And there, once again, replaying itself again and again was the street. _The ruined city. The missing moons and distant bells. Nothing stirred in the mess. Nothing moved in the wreak. Nothing but a piece of cloth...drifting along the sand till it got caught beneath his foot. I know this...I've seen this before. The single bullethole along the frayed edge of the fabric gave its' secrets away. He could guess what gun made that single tear. How could he forget...he owned it...!_  
  
He gasped and started downwards again. He knew now that he couldn't sleep...mustn't sleep! Moving more quickly, he had to get out. Get away from here. From sleep. From them...  
  
The door gave easily, swinging open at a touch. And there was the street, not broken but whole. Empty of people, and of bodies. Dimly visible not only through stars, but also by the moons. There was no smell of blood, no bells. He sighed and started walking. If he walked fast enough, far enough, the dreams, the pain, the dizziness...it would all just go away.  
  
"Oi!" came a call, and he paused. That voice...one long absent from the nightmare. He turned and saw then the worlds greatest criminal; the worlds would-be savior. He was slouching lethargically against the hotel wall. Not in red though, but simple white...all topped off with bed hair that really wasn't so messy, and golden glasses. He was fascinated for a moment, seeing the glasses and no coat. Like some judging bored angel. But an instant later, the glasses were gone, and only green eyes were left...staring, curious...  
  
"Where are you off to so suddenly?" he was asked.  
  
"Away...shouldn't you be sleeping?" came his answer.  
  
Green eyes turned away, and instead searched the sky. "I could say the same to you." He took a moment, and it seemed like he had maybe found something up in the heavens that he had not noticed before. Then he shrugged. "I was just thinking."  
  
There was a swallow before he could go on. "You're always thinking. It's all you do now."  
  
"Heh..." the bedhaired gunslinger nodded. "That and eat...I've been told. Though you think and eat a lot too." He stopped. "Reminds me...you didn't touch supper at all tonight. Are you ok?"  
  
"None of your concern." He snapped, and then noticed that the hotel was not far away yet. _Maybe it had even moved closer..._  
"I've got to go." And with that...he turned and began moving away from the building, the room, and the dreams once more.  
  
"Why?"  
  
He could already sense him there...several steps taken towards him. "What are you?" he spat irritated. "Some lost puppy following me around?" And he glanced back.  
  
_Yes...he looks like one. Lost maybe..._ There was confusion in that expression, or it could be concern...even hurt?_ Don't tell me he's about to cry or something._  
  
"I just thought...I mean. This is sudden. You don't even have your things. Your Punisher is still insi-.."  
  
"STOP IT!" he interrupted...feeling his head suddenly throb, watching another shifting of the buildings around him, and seeing a street again under no moons. He took a step to steady himself, and it seemed more like three and a half steps. "You don't get it do you! I can't be like this! All the things you do...and yet it'll happen exactly like on that street! And where will you be then? I can't do that!"  
  
"Hey! You are ok right?" And suddenly, they were very close. He couldn't understand how, seeing as the world was spinning and there was no way in the chaos around them that anyone could walk straight safely to any distance. The ground could have been rushing up at him sometime inbetween as well, for all of his weight wasn't being carried by himself.  
  
"I. Have. To. Go... I. Need. To..." He reiterated. He couldn't quite find his balance any longer...but if he could just let the other know...  
  
"It's not safe for anyone to be out at this time." Came the response, given with cautious glance up the street.  
  
"No..." he muttered, "It's not safe for YOU to be out at anytime."  
  
They began moving towards the hotel again. "You are sick. Fever maybe...so sleep is best..."  
  
"I...don't want to sleep." He stated, and tried to remember why. All that came to him now, in the near approaching darkness, was something about red. Vash...Vash dressed in red...  
  
Vash...yes. Vash was with him. Some clarity returned, and he wondered if things would be ok. He didn't feel good. Not good at all. And he was tired. So tired and drifting.  
_You don't have to do this...I'm supposed to kill you..._ he thought. Or maybe he had said it aloud...  
He just knew that in the blackness...there wouldn't be any dreams. No anger, no pain, no bullets, no fabric, and no darkness.  
  
Not for a little while...  
  
at least...


End file.
